Whatever It Takes
by I-am-the-survivor
Summary: Sherlock goes to Watson's room in the dead of night only to find she is gone and a note is left behind. To what extent will he go to in order to find her?
1. Chapter 1

**Aight so fun fact about this little fic I am posting. It started out as a stream of consciousness written after the episode last week written on my cell phone. However, I liked the idea so much that it is now a multichapter idea and I have no idea where I'm taking it or how I'm getting it there but here you go! It kinda went through the grinder over the past week cause I transferred the idea to a laptop, did some rehashing where stuff didn't make sense. I literally pondered the name of Watson's baby for a week. I originally had the baby as a girl so if there's any pronoun mistakes just yell at me and I'll fix them ASAP.**

 **After last week's episode I was so inspired by Desmond Harrington's portrayal of Michael that I had to write this. Also does anyone know Michael's last name cause I don't think they've said it in canon yet? I could be wrong.**

It is nearly four in the morning when the shrieking begins from upstairs. Sherlock, to his credit, no longer jumps at the sound of Leo awake and announcing his need to be fed. Rather, he sweeps quickly into the kitchen to prepare a bottle for Watson to sleepily retrieve when she wakes. It has become their pattern as of late since Watson gained a particularly nasty burn from trying to operate the stove at such an early hour. He puts the bottle on, she takes it, feeds Leo, and they all resume their previous activities.

When Watson proposed to him her idea of becoming a new mother he originally brushed it off. It was obviously just the murder of her quack therapist hitting her too closely. Yet after the incident he noticed the longing looks more and more. How her step would halt a second as they passed the park on the way to the station. Her eyes lingered on children smiling and playing. Her heart broke at every baby cry. It didn't take much persuading on his behalf.

Of course in perfect Watson fashion she settles into the role of mother with fantastical ease. She balances work and motherhood like a champion, even wearing one of those ridiculous straps across her chest in order to bounce Leo whilst simultaneously studying casework across the walls. She'd scatter kisses across the baby's stomach while he screeched with laughter. Her serene smile is something Sherlock won't soon forget. Even when work was too much she had the faithful eyes of Emily, Mrs. Hudson, or Oren watching over him.

That's why it's strange when five minutes pass and still no Watson. He'd not heard her footsteps come down the stairs or even the creak of the floorboards to announce that she'd even left her bed.

With a huff he abandons what he's doing fetching the bottle on his way. He tests the milk in the same manner he's watched Watson do a hundred times now before deeming it suitable for consumption and climbing the stairs. He first checks her bedroom but no sign of Watson.

Leo cries from the crib beside the much larger bed where Watson had obviously been lying. He rests a hand on the spot where she'd been only to find it cool to the touch. She's been out of bed for quite some time. He pushes back his apprehension first to tend to the crying child. They've already gotten numerous noise complaints from the heartless bastard next door. Obviously he'd underestimated the powerful lungs of a four month old.

He cradles him gently feeding and burping him before settling him back to the crib so he could peacefully slumber once more. All the time, despite his visceral efforts to remain calm, his heart thunders in his chest. Once he's asleep once more he begins his investigation. He checks her office in the basement despite knowing for a fact that she wouldn't ever leave Leo alone. Yet again he comes up empty. He checks the bathroom, living room twice, and against all odds his room for any sign of Watson.

He resigns to the inevitable in checking Watson's room and risking waking the baby once again. However, at this point all rationale is thrown out the window. The only thing he finds is a note scribbled on her bedside table that sends his heart plummeting to his stomach.

'You stopped paying attention.'

With shaky fingers he dials the first number he can think of at a time like this.

"Sherlock what the hell," The tired voice of Marcus groans through the phone. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Watson is gone." He interrupts the detective mid-rant.

"What?"

"Leo began crying in the middle of the night but she never got up to soothe him. When I checked Watson was gone." He speaks in a hushed voice pacing across the bedroom.

"Any telling of where she went?"

"Only a note from her kidnapper. I know who it is."

"Who?"

"Michael. Michael took her." The man had left New York months ago. He'd forewarned his return but according to the note he'd been back for a while, trying and failing to get his attention. If had been paying attention Watson would be here right now slumbering peacefully.

"Gregson and I will be over right away." Within 30 minutes their quaint home was filled with police investigating the disappearance of his partner. He would send Leo away with Oren until they could find her so the child could maintain some semblance of his routine. He was unfit to take care of him alone anyways, much less in his current panicked state.

"No fingerprints, typed note that's not signed, no signs of struggle." Marcus sighs. "Yup fair to say that he's our guy. Thorough as hell."

"How did he even get past you?" Gregson asks. It's the same question Sherlock had been beating into his head all night long. He'd not heard him enter nor either of them leave. "We'll look over security footage from across the street and see what we can find okay?"

He gives a jerky nod glancing at her empty bed once more. He should have heard something, noticed something.

Oren's shadow lingers in the background as another officer helps him gather a bag for Leo. Remarkably the baby remains fast asleep in his carrier despite the hustle and bustle around him. The older man seems to wait until the detectives part off once again before slowly approaching.

"Well I've got everything I need." Sherlock only nods noting the man's desire to ask questions. Yet he bites his tongue, an action he and his sister share. Just as he's about to leave Sherlock speaks up.

"There's no sign of a struggle."

"What?"

"Evidence points to the fact that Watson is still alive." He visibly relaxes, tension sinking out of his shoulders. "The note also gives us sufficient evidence to tell us who might be behind the kidnapping."

"Good." He nods with a sort of sad smile. "Just... I don't know what I'm going to tell mom."

Sherlock weighs his options for a few breaths. Spreading the word, the panic, that a consultant for the NYPD had been abducted from her own home would hit the news like wildfire. He's already heard Gregson discussing with FBI investigators to help find her. To spread this story any more would give Michael exactly what he wants. He craves the attention. However, to deprive Mary of the news of her daughter, especially in her addled state, is cruel to say the best.

"You'll tell her I'll find her daughter no matter the cost." Sherlock frowns.

"Whatever it takes?" Oren asks, no doubt in his mind tells him that Watson had told him of Sebastian Moran. He knows exactly what Sherlock is capable of in the most egregious of circumstances.

"Whatever it takes."


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm briefly back after vacation. I'm going through some hardships rn and I'm still without a laptop so I couldn't predict when I'll throw out my next update. If there's any mistakes, I wrote this on my cell phone so my bad.**

SO to Joanlockaholic who commented with Michael's last name. Finally some relief to that damned question

Michael is taunting all of them. That much Sherlock knows. He must have eyes on the outside watching their every move. Upon Captain Gregson's orders they submitted a BOL for Watson. Ever since he's waited by his phone with baited breath. The Brownstone is unbearably quiet in her absence. Leo is with Oren until Watson is found. His eraticism would do the baby no good.

His phone rings again and he answers within seconds. "Hello, Bell?"

"We got something." The tension in his chest loosens for a second. "Cashier at a grocery saw Watson and she gave her a weird receipt. She's bringing it in with her when she comes to questioning."

"I'll be over within an hour."

When he arrives Mrs. Rivera is already sitting in the briefing room, hands folded in her lap. From what he can deduce she's showing no signs of apprehension or guilt. He's nearly certain that this woman is nothing more than a pawn in these sickening games.

"There you are. She wanted to wait to speak to you." Bell nods to the seat across from the woman. She's elderly, likely no younger than 65.

"Me?"

"Unless you know another Sherlock Holmes out there." Bell tries to joke. Yet he can see the same desperation in the young detective's eyes. They're both keenly aware of what Michael is capable of yet neither of them able to prove it for a proper search warrant. "Mrs. Rivera, this is our consultant Sherlock Holmes."

"I know." The older woman nods. "You saved my nephew once. Whatever I can do to help find your friend, I will."

"Wonderful." Sherlock sighs. "Can you confirm that this is the woman you saw?" He slides a photo of Watson he'd saved on his phone across the table.

"Yup. That was her."

"Can you describe what she was wearing?" Bell chimes in.

"Black dress, looked pretty expensive. Kind of made her stand out considering it was nearly six in the morning."

"What did she buy?"

"Camping stuff. Some rope, couple of hooks and stuff, food." Rivera shakes her head. "I thought it was weird but she said she was going camping with her fiancé this weekend." The word settles a rock in his stomach.

"Was she alone." His words must come out too biting as Bell shoots him a look.

"Yeah. Walked out alone too." Just as he thought. A dead end lead. He's playing a game with all of them.

"And what about the weird receipt that you described on the phone?"

"When she signed I thought her name looked weird. I put it off with sloppy handwriting but then I saw her on the news." She digs into her purse before pulling out a piece of white paper. The ink on it confirms everything she said about the purchase. Yet on the line where her signature is usually scribbled isn't her name.

He casts a look to Detective Bell to confirm that he sees the same thing. He's got the same perplexed look as he studies the writing. Its hurried and nearly illegible but he almost swears he can make on two distinct words.

"Baby monitor?" Bell echoes his thought. His mind runs rampant with thoughts. Why would she write this? Was Michael watching her through the baby monitor? Another thought rips his stomach apart. The same baby monitor Oren took with him to watch Leo.

"We must go. Now." He pushes away from the table nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. "Thank you Mrs. Rivera you've been a world of help but I'm afraid we must leave immediately."

"Sherlock?" The detective follows him out of the building where he marches briskly towards his squad car. "Sherlock what the hell man?"

"Watson is trying to tell us something about what happened that night. I believe Michael may have hacked into Watson's baby monitor for who knows how long. If he threatened Leo it would've gotten her to leave of her own free will. She knew where I was and was able to guide them out of the house where he could steal her away without my notice."

"That still doesn't explain where we are going."

"Oren has the baby monitor. He could still be watching."

"Leo..." Marcus gasps. His realization seems to finally kick him into gear as he rushes to the driver's seat and hops in. He speeds out of the parking lot blasting the sirens at full volume. The drive is tense with no words spoken between the two men, however the anxiety hangs in the air all the way up until Bell pulls into Oren's driveway.

Marcus holds a hand across his body to signal to stay back. He realizes its more for Oren's good than his own. If Sherlock were to march in their right now he'd likely knock over anyone and anything in his pathway. Instead he bounces on his toes waiting for the older Watson to answer the door.

As soon as Oren grants his permission for them to search Sherlock is brushing past the man. His heart thunders in his chest so loud that he can barely hear Marcus giving a status report to, who he assumes is Oren's wife, in the living room. His chest loosens a little when he sees Leo's dark eyes staring back at him. He's sitting up in his crib, chubby fists waving his pacifier in the air as if he's waving. Leo seems to look around the room curiously before realizing the absence of his mother. His face scrunches up in a look that signifies his loud cries are to come.

On instinct he swoops in, picking the little boy up and bouncing him from side to side. He mimicks Watson's movements gently taking the pacifier from his tiny fingers and placing it in his mouth. Sherlock's not entirely sure what compels him to do it but he begins talking to the small child.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. "I should've heard something. I should've been able to help her." Leo sets his head on his shoulder sniffling. "If I'd have known Michael was back sooner..." Mentally he can hear Watson scolding him for blaming himself for this mess when clearly Michael was a sociopath longing for attention. "You have my word Leo, I will get your mommy back." He mutters against his soft hair.

Once he's sure the boy is settled again he sets him back into the crib. He creeps quietly over to where the baby monitor lies, inspecting it in the dark light of the bedroom. As he's flicking through the setting he notices two words flipped around. Its strange since, for extra per caution, he'd hired one of his irregulars to add extra features to the thing. He wouldn't make such a trivial mistake.

He clicks the button that lines up with the mistake on the screen. The screen flashes for a second before popping up with one word, 'Michael.'

He beams with pride. God knows how she's managed to do it but this should be enough to get a warrant.

"That's my girl." He whispers into the silence of the room before marching off to the living room to report his findings to Bell.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so excited. The next chapter is the idea that this story really branched off of but sadly it's going to take me a bit to watch some clips to get the voices down correctly. Until then I'll gladly look at anyone's recommendations or ideas that they have that may happen cause believe it or not some of those really spur the writing process. Hope you enjoy!**

Wait. That's what they told him. That he needed to wait.

In the end it was Marcus who delivered the news looking as angry as he felt. It was Gregson's job to convince the judge that Michael was the one who kidnapped Watson. There was not enough information, he'd said. With Michael having no previous criminal record and only his confession from when he was suffering from PCS, they'd been denied the warrant they needed. He'd done as the captain had asked, despite every nerve in his body demanding him to do something, anything.

It'd been Bell's idea to wait for the warrant. Take no chances, he'd said. Give the jury no reason to doubt the validity in which Michael Rowan is guilty of the murder of 14 women and the kidnapping of Watson. Yet their try for a warrant had failed them taking them back to square one all over again.

He does little more than usher Bell out of the house before not so gently closing the door behind the detective. It isn't his fault, of course. That's what he has to tell himself every day since her disappearance. Every time his chest swells with anger as detectives bustle around him just as confused as he. Two days. She's been missing for two damn days and all they have to point to Michael being their man is a name on the baby monitor.

Anger vibrates beneath his skin. The desire to tear the place apart itches at his fingertips. He needs to do something. He can't just sit here and wait any longer. He bustles around the house for fifteen minutes, just to be sure that the good detective is gone and not lingering outside of the Brownstone wanting to check on him.

Once the coast is clear he slips out the door and calls a taxi. He needs to do something now. Law be damned. He needs to find Watson. He can't just sit back and wait any longer.

He takes the taxi to Michael's home and picks the lock with ease. Had he have been in a better mood he'd pat himself on the back for record timing. He pushes open the door noting the cleanliness of the place. Despite returning, it doesn't appear that Michael has returned to his home. The place sits in the same unloved manner as Watson had described to him all those months ago. A chill runs down his spine as he remembers Michael's call. How he talked about Watson being inside his home. Part of him wonders how long he'd been watching her.

The walls are clean, almost medicinally so. Dust doesn't even seem to have settled on any of the furniture. It's not lived in but it's taken care of either by Michael or another party. Cabinets and fridge alike are all empty. If Sherlock hadn't known otherwise he would've assumed this house to be on the market for purchase.

He halts mid gait when he spies a rectangular shaped object lying on the coffee table across the room. He approaches cautiously before recognizing it as a video tape. Scribed on the white tape in neat, unrecognizable handwriting are the words 'Play me'.

He inserts the tape into the VCR and watches as the TV flickers to life. The camera focuses as it settles on Michael's smiling face. "Sherlock," Even his own name brings a sneer when it comes to this detestable man. "If you're watching this it means you found my tape which is good." He laughs.

Sherlock shifts his feet crossing his arms. Michael takes up most if not all of the frame leaving little to be analyzed. The sound in the background also seems to be faded out. No recognizable sounds other than his voice.

"It took me a long time to figure out why, even after you recovered, you hadn't reached out. I didn't know why you still couldn't see that without me there's no you. Finally I found the answer."

He reaches to the camera and it flips to reveal Watson sitting in a chair with her jaw clenched. She's dressed just as the lady had described but instead of a high up do her hair hangs limply by her cheeks. Her wrists and ankles are bound with zip ties, it appears her midsection is tied too. Bruises reach from her temple to her left eye. One cheek appears to be more red than the other. He hit her. Multiple times.

"She's your distraction isn't she?" Again the camera flips to reveal a sinister looking smile. "She's fiesty, I must admit. I can see why she fascinates you so much. But once she's finally out of the way you'll be able to see what I mean. You'll be able to understand that you need me." The smile steadily fades from his face. "You're running out of time Sherlock."

The screen flickers to black once more leaving him with tension shaking him to his bones. There was absolutely nothing that could help him in that video. He could probably watch it a hundred times and still have no lead. All he'd known had been confirmed. Michael has Watson, she is relatively unharmed, he intends to kill her if he's not fast enough.

His fingers tremble as he digs in his pocket for his cell phone. The screen blinks to live teasing him with the image of his lock screen, a photo he'd taken of Leo and Watson sharing a rare serene moment in the park. Watson had changed it one day and he never had the heart to change it back to the normal blank canvas new phones come with.

Shaking fingers dial familiar numbers before he presses the cell against his ear. His heart thunders in his chest as the phone rings once, then twice. He wonders for a brief moment if he'd gotten the numbers wrong in his panic, or if they'd changed after the years.

"Hello, Sherlock?" A voice calls, finally.

"I need your help."


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm serving y'all two updates of 2 different fics before I head back to college on Friday. I've had both of these in my inbox for a while (the other upload ESPECIALLY) but I simply was never satisfied with them. I finally tweaked them so they're suitable for uploads which is super convenient cause I will not have much time to upload for a while otherwise due to my return to school. Hope you guys enjoy!**

Sherlock waits for a few beats as if his words had shocked the other party.

"I must say when you said you suspected Morland to keel over soon I didn't imagine you meant a few months. If I were a betting woman I'd have given him another year." Jamie's voice teases from the other end. He can hear chatter on the other side of the line. Leave it her to nonchalantly speak of death in a restaurant.

"It's not my father."

"Shameful. Is it that Detective you're fond of then? Quite tragic he didn't get the job with the US Marshall." Now she's simply showing off. Of course she has eyes on them. "If only he'd made it to the training camp I really think he would've had the chance."

"Watson's been taken."

"What?" All teasing disappears from her voice. Now isn't the time for showing off. "When?"

"Two days ago she was taken from our home. I hadn't noticed until late in the evening when..." He takes a breath. Surely she knows about Leo. The damned woman knew of everything else going on in their lives. "When her son started crying. She didn't wake to stop it. She was gone with only a note left behind." His voice holds steady through the explanation but the desire to smash everything in his way burns beneath his chest. To tear the world apart until he can find her.

"Surely you must know who took her. You two don't exactly have a track record of escaped criminals."

"In fact we have two." He spits. "You and Michael Rowan."

"Never heard of him." Though from the tone in her voice she will soon enough. He can practically see her committing the name to memory.

"He was a serial killer Watson and I were chasing months ago. He was... thorough. Killed fourteen women but left no evidence behind. Lead us on a wild goose chase to find a body. He left town when I denied that I needed him. You could say he was quite obsessed with me."

"You're addictive." The words echo like a slap to his face. That's her exact intention. She wants her words to sting. She's quite good at it too.

"He blamed my cluelessness on my health. At the time I'd been going through post concussion syndrome." He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth before pressing it tight behind his teeth. "Then when I failed to notice his return he took Watson."

"He blames her."

"He intends to kill her if I don't find him quick enough." Tension vibrates his bones as he sends out his plea. "I need your help to find her."

"What's in it for me?" Leave it to her to be bargaining with so much on the line.

"Michael will be all yours."

"Who's to say he isn't already." He lets out a huff pinching the bridge of his nose. He can't waste his time any more. They're running out of time. She's running out of time.

"What do you want?"

"That's more like it." She croons. "I want you here."

"I'm not leaving Watson." The words leave his lips without hesitation. He's left her before and he'll be damned if he ever does again.

"I want her too." He can practically hear her smile. "You two are much easier to keep track of when you're closer. Besides, nobody has even come close to catching me. I miss the thrill of the game."

"I'm not interested in games."

"Only for a short time then." She proposes. "A month. I'm sure Joanie would appreciate showing Leo around London. Though we all know he's far too young to remember any of it."

"Fine."

"Now that wasn't so hard was it?"

"But nobody hurts us."

"I wouldn't dream."

"Or anyone we've become acquainted with or the ones they care about."

"You know I'm not sure you're in the position to be making demands right now." She's correct but he can't risk hurting Gregson again. Not after Hannah had witnessed her roommate like that and sent her tumbling back to the bottle for comfort.

"Perhaps not." He shrugs.

"I want Michael dead. Not a cop suicide. Not one of my lackies. I want him for myself. Do whatever you need but all of you will turn your heads when I'm there."

"Done."

"Having you compliant for a change is so refreshing. Reminds you of the good old days doesn't it?"

"Goodbye Moriarty."

"Farewell Sherlock." As the line goes dead the gravity of what he's done sinks onto his shoulders. Finally after holding back for so long the tension explodes from within him and he hurls his phone at the opposite wall. It shatters with a sickening crack. He half considers screaming out his feelings into the empty room. After a moment's consideration he resists; the last thing he needs is the cops being called on him for breaking into a suspect's home.

When he finally calms down enough to face the public again he hails a taxi and heads home. Despite the driver's amicable attempts he remains quiet in the back. He fingers the burner phone in his pocket. Since he has the affinity of breaking things Watson always made him carry two on him at all times. He'd give anything to hear her scolding him for breaking another right now.

As he steps into the Brownstone he feels the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He'd barely slept or ate in the past 48 hours. His fit cost him a good portion of his reserve energy. He freezes mid-step, however, as he recognizes the chime of Watson's ringtone.

Bell's name lights up the screen and he answers without another second.

"How come your phone is going straight to voicemail?" The detective asks, annoyance laced in his voice.

"Broke it." He says nonchalantly. "What'd you need?"

"We had an anonymous tip come in fifteen minutes ago. Said they saw the woman from the news downtown on their way home from work. They described both her and Michael to a tee. Even gave the same outfit that the lady from the grocery store did."

"Did they give anything else?" His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for a response.

"We got an address."


	5. Chapter 5

**I somehow managed to punch out one more update before class tomorrow ayy. Unless some sort of lightning strikes this fic only has 2-3 more chapters left in it. In the mean time feel free to leave requests. I need more practice writing these two and honestly I just love doing it too. Enjoy the chapter!**

From the moment Sherlock steps into the car Marcus's sirens are blaring across the dark streets. Red and blue lights bounce off glass assaulting his senses as his mind continues to reel with all the possibilities of what's awaiting them at the sight. He takes a glance at Marcus out of the corner of his eye and he sees a tenseness that was rare for the younger detective. His knuckles are tight against the wheel, shoulders drawn taught. His lips form a pressed line and his jaw is clenched shut. They sit in tense silence until they come upon the scene where more lights flood the blackness of the streets.

As soon as the car stops Sherlock is out of the car walking towards the house in question. The house looks eerily normal. Just like the old family homes he and Watson see on long drives to crime scenes. Any other day he'd expect two bikes to be parked outside, a dog barking behind the fence, and Joan by his side ready to interrogate. It's not any other day though. Rather Joan is trapped inside with a mad man and he's on the other side of this yellow tape with one thought blocking out the others.

When did he start calling her Joan?

Gregson calls his attention before he can ponder the thought further. "He's been asking for you for fifteen minutes."

"That's not creepy." Bell mutters under his breath.

"He's in the basement. We can't get our guys in there without risking he hurt Joan in any way." Annoyance and worry lace the old captain's face. They'd dealt with kidnappings before but rarely one of their own. Never under the power of someone so frightening.

"I'll go." Sherlock nods. "I can take care of Michael." Another officer passes him a bulletproof vest. Even though it's required for negotiations Sherlock entertains the idea of refusing for a second. If Watson isn't able to get out of there alive, he's not entirely sure he can either. Regardless, he straps on the vest and steps inside the house.

It's been unlived in for a while. Dust has settled over furniture, couches and chairs are covered in sheets to protect from damage. Even so, old frames of a family still hang on the walls abandoned by their owners. Two adults, no children of their own so it appears. The home definitely doesn't belong to Michael. The thought of how he gained access sends a shiver up his spine.

He creeps down the stairs slowly trying to gain information along the way. He sees Watson first, tied up to a chair with her eyes closed. He sees her chest rise and fall erratically. Good, she's alive and awake. As he takes the last step Michael comes into view behind her. He stands with one arm across Watson's shoulders and the other pressing a gun to her temple.

"Sherlock," The man sighs with a sickening grin. "I was beginning to think you'd never show up." Watson's eyes snap open and catch his in a mix of fear and relief. Now, without the fuzz of the video, he can make out two bruises blossoming on her face. One, stretches from her hairline to the corner of her eye and the other stretches across her cheekbone. Other than that and the bags under her eyes she appears relatively unharmed.

Yet the bruises were enough to ignite the fire in his lungs again. He itches to jump at the man. Make him pay for even thinking about hurting his Watson. "Let her go." His voice remains unwavered cutting across the room. As he takes a step towards the two Michael tightens his grip on Joan pushing the pistol harder against her head. Sherlock freezes deciding quickly to remain where he is.

"Why would I do that? The fun is just getting started." He tips his head back letting out a short chuckle. "I've waited so long to see you again. How are you?" Sherlock keeps his jaw shut tight refusing to engage. Michael's smile quickly fades from his face replacing itself with a deadly scowl. "I gave you time. I gave you more than enough time." He shakes his head, "What do I get in return? Silence."

"You're wrong. We were looking for you."

"Yet you didn't even notice another three women go missing. No, it had to be her." He's fingers dig into her skin forcing a small whimper from Watson's lips. It draws his attention enough for him to see the bags under her eyes; how long has it been since she slept?

"Watson has nothing to do with any of this." He spits.

"Her and her son have kept you occupied. Too busy. You've lost your edge again."

"I think you're just too afraid of the truth." Sherlock rocks back on his heels trying to come off as flippant as possible. In reality, his heart hammers in his chest erratically. He just needs to get the gun off of Watson. If it must be pointed at him, so be it. "The fact is, I don't need you."

"You're lying."

"In actuality I don't think I've ever been more earnest. You need me, not vice versa." Watson's eyes remain shut, if he didn't know better it'd look as if she were waiting. "There will always be killers, simple as that. Humans are a malevolent species. We feed off of others for our own selfish gain. We are our own predators. Another murderer will come. I need you as much as I need the next fool whose case falls into our hands."

"Shut up!" Michael shouts. Sherlock recognizes the look on Watson's face but it is much too late. As soon as the gun moves so does she. Her hands break free from the restraints that she was likely picking throughout the entire conversation. She uses the chain to wrap around Michael's wrist forcing the gun back down as two sharp blasts echo through the air. The gun skitters across the ground with Michael rushing to retrieve it. It's her cry of pain that spurs Sherlock into action.

He tackles the man to the ground before he can reach his weapon. In the short struggle Sherlock comes out on top landing blow after blow to the man's face. He uses up all the rage that's been burning in his chest in one explosive moment. He doesn't stop until he hears Marcus shouting his name on top of all the chaos.

"Holmes!" Finally he relents noticing that Michael had long since stopped fighting back. "It's over." The detective offers him a hand which he takes. His legs carry him to where Watson sits, nearly slumped over in the chair.

"Sherlock." She murmurs tipping forwards into his grip. He catches her with ease eyes trailing over her to see where she'd been hit. Crimson spreads across her thigh marking the spot where she'd been shot. He hates that relief washes over him in that moment. It could have been so much worse.

"Get her out of here." Marcus commands. It doesn't take him much more convincing as he lifts her carrying her out of the house where she'd been held captive. He's careful not to jostle her as her head rests against his chest. The only sign that she's still awake is her hand gripping his vest, refusing to let go.

Still the paramedics take her and, despite her quiet protests, he lets them. Gregson intercepts him before he can climb in after her as they load her up into the ambulance.

"Is she okay?" Sherlock gives a short jerky nod.

"She disarmed Michael while I was distracting him. Got shot in the leg in the process." He rubs his eyes as he thinks about how close he was to losing her. "We're taking a month long leave. No case work."

Gregson's eyebrow raise in shock. "I thought I was going to have to twist your arm to get that to happen."

"Not this time." He shakes his head sullenly. "Not when it came that close." With that he climbs into the ambulance settling by Watson's side. Her features are more relaxed, showing little signs of the stress of the past two days. He takes her hand in his own ignoring the bustle of the medics around them.

He has her back and this time he's not letting go.


	6. Chapter 6

**So this was actually fairly difficult to write because I wrote the first half in between classes and had to stop when class started. To be completely honest I forgot about it for 4 days before I finally got back to it after watching this ep. This story actually only has one chapter left after this so enjoy!**

 _The doorbell rings in the middle of their latest search. In the past weeks the dramatics of it all has died down significantly. Leo now coos from his playpen while their files spread out on the floor, out of his eyesight. Sherlock keeps insisting that he's far too young to remember any of the images he sees but Watson remains unmoving on the issue. Thus during playtime the two of them must remain in sight but their cases should never be in view. He made a mistake of using a baby carrier one time while studying his "wall of crazy" as Watson had dubbed it, and she'd not let it go ever since._

 _Watson rises first as his leg is asleep from sitting cross-legged for too long. He shakes the numbed limb intending to rise and make the two of them coffee as he eavesdrops on the conversation at the door._

" _Sherlock!" Two sharp blasts ring out followed by a sickening thud. He rounds the corner quickly spying Watson on the ground, her face twisted in pain. When he looks up the perpetrator is already gone. Crimson spreads rapidly across the white blouse underneath her jacket. He drops by her side cradling her head in his lap mind rushing through what to do. He barely has enough time to hold her before her chest goes still, eyes staring up at the ceiling._

 _Such a violent way to die._

Sherlock gasps, his body jerking from his slumber. Leo's cries still echo in his ears and he has to remind himself that it's just another dream. In the week since Watson's capture the nightmares had become quite frequent. Enough so that he actively avoids getting sleep unless absolutely necessary.

However, he doesn't normally wake on his own. Watson had night terrors of her own, often waking screaming his name. The first time it'd happened was after she'd woken in the hospital the first time after her capture. He'd been with Detective Bell going over the details of Michael's capture when her scream broke through the otherwise quiet hospital.

He'd not heard her say his name with so much fear in his life.

Tonight seemed to be a rare moment of peace. The baby monitor resting on the coffee table didn't emit the sounds preluding to a nightmare. Rather the quiet serenity of mother and child sleeping for once.

It took him all but twenty seconds to realize that it was too quiet. Normally over the monitor he could hear white noises such as Watson's fan or the faint driving of cars if she kept her window open on a nice and cool night. Rather it was complete silence.

He pushes himself off the bed scaling the steps two at a time. As he was walking towards her bedroom a familiar shape catches his eye in his peripheral. The baby monitor in question rests on the sink in the bathroom. It's carefully placed and without a doubt in his mind, by Watson's doing. He lets out a sigh continuing his trajectory with less panic than before. As he approaches he can already hear her hushed voice speaking quietly.

He pushes open the door quietly, neither mother or son acknowledging his presence. He knows better than anyone that Watson noticed him enter. In the faded light of her lamp he can see her cheeks are blotchy. She'd been crying. No wonder she didn't want him to hear.

"Shouldn't you be asleep young man?" Leo spins his head upon hearing his voice letting out an excited squeal. He throws his chubby fists towards him much like he does when he wants attention.

"Traitor." Watson murmurs from her half lying half sitting position. Regardless she pats the spot on her bed indicating that it was okay for him to sit. Leo slaps his pant leg mimicking his mother has he takes his spot on the bed. "Tell him that you kept babbling. You were obviously too hyper to sleep cause someone let you try honey today."

"He liked it."

"Yes enough to talk my ear off for an hour before I tried to rock him." She casts a look to the chair in the corner then at her crutches. "I didn't make it far." She says half jokingly but he can hear the resentment in her voice. She hates being incapacitated. With the shot she'd originally been placed in a wheelchair but due to her quick healing she'd been given crutches and a strict limit on how much walking she was to do.

Originally she'd been diagnosed with stage one hypothermia and a mild concussion. Upon hearing the results from the doctor Sherlock dedicated himself to Watson's care. He'd not allow her to experience what he went through with PCS even if it meant annoying her to no end.

"You couldn't sleep either." He guesses. The rest of the statement remains hanging in the air. Despite their shared nightmares, neither of them ever spoke of them. Her smile fades from her face but she still doesn't look at him.

"You want to know what happened that night. Why I left with him?" She passes Leo one of his toys that she keeps handy on the bedside table so that he may be distracted while they talk. Apparently his silence answers her question enough because she continues. "I woke up to Leo babbling. Like he does with you or me. I just figured he was talking to his toys but he kept getting more frantic. When I turned the light on I saw Michael next to his crib." Her voice catches in her throat and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "I wasn't his target. Leo was."

"Watson." The confession knocks the air from his lungs.

"When he made a grab for him I offered myself. I said you'd give more of a fight if you couldn't find me. I'd be out of the way so it'd truly be you versus him."

"You played into what he wanted. You knew." He breathes in astonishment.

"I did what I had to to protect him." Finally she looks to him. "I'm sorry."

"No," He shakes his head. "Watson don't apologize. You did what you could to help. The baby monitor was a great lead." He lies for her, of course. Should she know the lengths he went to find her… he's not entirely sure she'd forgive him for putting them all in such great danger.

As he adjusts he spies Leo's eyes beginning to droop. It'd seem in the time they were talking the little boy had finally decided it was time for him to sleep. He sweeps the boy up before he can tip over and places him in his crib.

"Goodnight Watson." However as he goes to leave the room she catches his wrist.

She doesn't meet his eyes and her voice is so quiet that he can barely hear her. He almost questions if she imagined it. "Stay, please. Just for tonight." She pulls lightly and he follows taking his spot back on his bed.

"Of course."


	7. Chapter 7

**We come once again to the end of a fic. I'm especially proud of this chapter (and mildly freaked out). Long story short I write in chunks and come back later. I wrote half of this (up until Sherlock telling Watson what had happened) last Friday in between classes. The rest I finished today in a spur of writing because I noticed a few startling similarities between my writing and the canon. I was already shocked at Watson being in danger at the hands of Michael. Imagine my surprise when the FBI is accusing Watson and that he was beaten to death. If it's revealed next week that Moriarty killed Michael I'll lose my shit.**

 **Shoutout to my best friend in the world Rey for being my sounding board once again for a story and helping me work out kinks in the story even though they've literally only seen 2 episodes. See y'all in the next story**

Sherlock nearly smiles at the sight he comes upon as he stalks down the stairs from his latest experiment. His first sight is the bright green baby blanket spread across the hardwood floor signifying tummy time for the younger Watson. This was to be expected as it was on schedule for him which Joan follows quite strictly. However, what he did not expect to see as he descended was Watson, herself, lying on her stomach across from her son making exaggerated faces. Her eyes flash up to him upon hearing his footsteps and he hears a small noise of distress from Leo, who's protesting the sudden loss of attention. Within a second her attention is back on her son making an ridiculous angry face to which the boy erupts into laughter in response of.

"He's getting quicker with his responses." She remarks proudly. She swoops Leo from his lying position settling him in her lap when she readjusts herself to sit up. "He especially likes making faces." She bestows a kiss on her son's head filling his heart with warmth.

"I could see that." He teases gently. Upon hearing his voice Leo finally seems to notice his presence with a repeated announcement of _ba!_

Watson amuses the small boy pointing at Sherlock with a smile. "Is that ba?"

"Ba!" He yells out again.

"You know Bà is far from Uncle Sherlock?" He settles on the couch across from the pair.

"And you know sh, r, and ck are some of the hardest phonetic sounds in the english language for children to learn." She raises an eyebrow challenging him. She'd caught him late one night reading on the speech patterns of children. He'd tried to excuse it as crucial to the case but she knows him far too well for that to be even mildly excusable. He's as smitten with the youngest addition to the family as he is. In fact, little Leo Watson seems to have everyone he meets wrapped around his little finger. "Besides, I think Bà is cute." She beams.

He opens his mouth to present an argument against the title but is swiftly interrupted by the doorbell. Her sly smirk is enough to tell him that she is under the impression that she's won this round. "This isn't over."

"Sure it's not."

In the month since Watson's capture they've settled into odd patterns of behavior. One of which is his refusal for her to answer the door. It'd come with the repeated nightmare of Watson being shot, bleeding out in his arms. Despite their new sleeping arrangements of him settling into her bed whenever he'd find himself tired enough to sleep, the nightmares didn't quite go away. Yet it was comforting to wake with her head on his shoulder, dark hair slipping over her face in slumber.

The same goes for when she suffers as well. She'll startle herself awake enough to bring himself to attention. He keeps still as not to push her away but he can feel her fingers digging into the spot on his chest, unconsciously checking for a pulse to match her own racing heart against. They never talk about it in the morning but he will always end up in her bed and she'll curl towards him at some point during the night.

He opens the door to reveal Detective Bell looking rather grim.

"Marcus, come in. I'm sure Leo would be happy to see you."

"As tempting as it is to see the little man I'm here for strict business." The smile fades from Sherlock's face as he adjusts himself. "Michael Rowan was found in his cell last night beaten to death."

"I hope you don't hold it against me that I find that relieving." He frowns. He'd known this was coming for a while but in all honesty it'd taken longer than he expected. Moriarty was normally more keen on these sorts of things.

"I don't but the FBI probably will."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock chokes out.

"You and Watson are the prime suspects in the murder of Michael Rowan." Marcus passes the papers to Sherlock with a regretful look. "You're both to turn yourselves in the FBI as soon as possible."

"We didn't-"

"I know." He shifts from one foot to the other in disbelief. "But they know you got the motive."

"Watson still hardly has the range to walk down the stairs much less take down a man twice her size." He says quietly not to disturb the pair in the other room.

"I know. That's why the Captain sent me to warn you. Get your stories straight and have someone watch Leo. They'll be here in a few hours but I got a head start on them."

"Thank you Marcus."

"I got no worries you two will get outta this one but I'd rather them not catch you off guard and having child services take Leo."

"You're a good godfather." Marcus smiles despite himself patting him on the shoulder. He watches the detective drive off before walking back inside to give the news to Watson.

When he catches her this time, she's bouncing with Leo across the room humming some pop song that must be stuck in her head. "I heard Marcus." She says suddenly breaking the moment of peace. "We have a case?"

"I'm afraid not." His eyes flash to Leo who seems to catch onto his distress furrowing his eyebrows. "Why don't you play him some music. You're not going to want him to hear this." The mood in the room shifts dramatically. Her posture tightens and her movements are sharp, methodical. She flips on a song that is now embedded deep in his brain as it's played consistently during down times. Honestly how a song about a family of sharks can be so hypnotising to a child is amazing. Leo's babbling along fills the noise of the background.

"Honestly must it always be that song?" He tries to joke half heartedly.

"Coming from the man who used to constantly change my ringtone to annoy me. Besides, it's his favorite." Watson's smile slips from her face and her arms settle across her chest as she comes to rest in front of him. "What's going on?" She switches from mommy mode to business mode with ease. It would be one of his favorite things to see if it weren't for the circumstances.

"Michael Rowan was found beaten to death in his cell."

"I'd expect you to be relieved."

"Yes well. I would be if we were not the FBI's prime suspects."

Watson shifts off her bad leg, though she mostly doesn't have the need for crutches anymore he learned it still gets sore if she remains standing in one position for too long. "We have more than enough evidence to prove we were home. The baby monitor, the cameras that I know are still up, and the surveillance outside."

"Not if they think we hired someone to kill him for us." Sherlock frowns.

"Even if we wanted to you gave away all your inheritance." She shrugs. "We'll dig up the paperwork and that should be more than enough evidence for them to discharge us. I'll just call Mrs. Hudson and ask her to watch Leo for a bit. We'll be fine."

"Not if what she was paid in wasn't money."

Watson goes deadly still realization hitting her like a wave. "Sherlock what aren't you telling me?" She asks in almost a whisper.

"I couldn't catch a solid lead. Even with your baby monitor hint the judge denied our plea for a warrant was denied. The NYPD, Everyone, I even called my father."

"Sherlock…"

"Nobody could find a solid lead. After the video I called Moriarty." Disappointment paints across her face. A look he can't stand to see on her. "I couldn't find you. I failed and I panicked. He was going to kill you. I can lose anyone else but not you Watson. Not you."

Tense silence fills the air and it seems for a few seconds Watson is stuck in time.

"You were right. When Michael took you he took the person I cared about most in the world. He took you right from our home. I should have known. I should have protected you."

"You couldn't." She whispers.

"I should've. Instead you were hurt. You suffer from trauma due to a battle between me and another. Your son almost got caught in the crosshairs for god sakes."

"You're wrong." She says after a beat. "I didn't get stuck in the battle I was fighting on your side the entire time. I helped point out leads. I talked to his best friend. I continued the search while you healed. I didn't get stuck in the battle I was as much a competitor as he and you. Leo has both of us to protect him. You can't fill your head with almosts because I caught him and saved _our_ son." His breath catches in his throat at her words.

"Watson."

"No, I'm not done." She cuts him off. "Michael could have gone for any one of us. Gregson, Bell, me, you. We had no way of predicting that any of this would turn out this way. As for Moriarty you know damn well I would have done the same if you were on the other end. You and Leo are everything to me."

He's not sure who's more shocked by his movement Watson or himself, but the next moment he's gathered her in his arms hugging her tightly to his chest. Neither of them can say for certain how long they stay there soothed by the other's heartbeat. He feels her shift again when her leg becomes sore once more but she doesn't pull away. Rather her arms, which at one point had wound themselves around his wiry frame hold closer.

"What do we do now?" She mutters against his chest.

"We pay our deal with the Devil."

 **Bà = Dad in Chinese I got inspired while doing baby research and found that "ba" is typically the first sounds a baby makes it only made sense for Leo to assign it to Sherlock. May end up writing more little fluffy oneshots with Leo**


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